


Comfort Food

by legallyblack



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Poor Hermione, UGH I love them, after the slug ball, kinda everywhere, romione, snacking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27651385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legallyblack/pseuds/legallyblack
Summary: Hermione hated Ron. But she loved him even more.Set after the Slug Club party in 6th year.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Kudos: 32





	Comfort Food

_ December 15, 1996 _

Her dress was pretty. It was flowy and cream colored and somewhat  _ revealing, _ but she didn’t care. It was pretty.

And now, it was ruined. Did she mention the dress was expensive? Cause it was.

“Mum’s gonna kill me.”

Hermione wiped the tears from her eyes. The whole night had been a disaster. Her 6th year shining moment had ended with a drunk McLaggen spilling his entire goblet of fire whiskey down the front of her dress. The creepy git had been trying to kiss her for the  _ second _ time that night, getting a little more handsy than Hermione would allow. She’d left promptly after that. If she strained her ears enough she could still hear the lively music and commotion. She recalled the conversation she’d had with Harry behind the band.

“ _ Cormac? That’s who you invited?” _

_ “I thought it would annoy Ron the most”. _

Harry was stuck in his own “Be Your Own Chosen One” complex, going on and on about Malfoy. God, what was wrong with boys? While she didn’t blame Harry, he still could have paid more attention to her obvious plea for help.

Screw Harry.

Screw Cormac.

...screw Ron.

_ Ron.  _ Merlin, she hated him. He was the reason she’d even asked McLaggen to the dance anyway. Truthfully, she’d hoped for more of a reaction, but what did she expect when the idiot spent more time sucking Lavender Brown’s face than talking to his friends? She hated him.

But she loved him more than she hated him. 

That was a fact that Hermione, as hard as she may try, could never escape. 

She  _ loved _ Ron. And he didn’t love her. At least not in the last 2 months anyway.

  
  
  


Hermione was snapped out of her thoughts by the portrait in front of her. “Granger, dear, I thought you were going to that Sluggy’s party?” The Fat Lady asked sweetly. Hermione swallowed thickly. “Oh, I just felt tired. Grizzle Tie.” At the password, the door swung open and she climbed in through the portrait hole. The thought of a warm shower and a good night’s sleep of forgetfulness drove Hermione straight in the direction of the Girl’s dorm. She had just started to ascend the stairs when she was interrupted by a voice.

“Hermione?”

She swung around.  _ Ron. Great. I don’t think I have enough energy for another argument. _

But the Ron that was slowly rising from the armchair and walking towards her wasn’t angry. In fact, she couldn’t make out exactly  _ what _ his expression held.

“Why are you back from the party so early? I thought you and  _ Cormac _ weren’t supposed to be back until midnight.” He said the name with such disgust it was actually quite amusing. “Well, we parted ways, and I came back early. Is there a problem with that?” Hermione shot back. She didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but she was already so done with the night, she wanted nothing more than to go to sleep and forget it ever happened. Ron opened his mouth to retort but paused, evidently seeing the state that Hermione’s dress was in. “What the ruddy hell happened to your dress? And why are your eyes so puffy?” Hermione stood there, unanswering. She hadn’t expected him to actually pay attention to her once she’d entered the room. Ron had apparently taken her silence to mean the worst, because he stepped closer, examining her dress with a look of...concern? Anger? She couldn’t tell.

“Is that...firewhiskey? Cause I’ve got to tell you Hermione, you don’t seem like the drinking-”

Hermione burst into tears, pulling away from him.

“You’ve got to tell me?  _ You’ve got to tell me? _ Since when have  _ you _ wanted to tell me anything lately? Because it seems to me, Ron, that you’re perfectly happy ignoring me, and making fun of me, and acting like a complete arse for who knows what reason? In fact, what did I ever do to you?  _ You’re _ the one who got a girlfriend who requires your presence 24/7.  _ You’re the one who suddenly decided that we weren’t best friends anymore. _ I suppose now that Cormac’s spilled firewhiskey all over this- this- this  _ very expensive _ dress, you’ve found another thing to laugh at me for?”

She was breathing fast, eyes looking wildly from Ron to the room and back to Ron, who looked absolutely shocked from her outburst. Why wasn’t he responding? She wanted him to respond. Wanted him to give her another reason to hate him so that she could keep on pretending that the sight of Lavender on him didn't make her want to die inside. 

He looked at her, blinking repeatedly. When he spoke, the words came out in a low whisper.

“Cormac did that to you?”

Hermione was taken aback. What was he getting at? “Wha-what?”

He repeated his question.

“Cormac. He did that to you?”

Hermione looked down at the floor. “Yes.”

“And why did Cormac feel the need to throw a drink on his date?”

“Because I didn’ want to kiss him. And it was an accident, he at least has  _ some _ tact when it comes to ladies.”

Ron looked hurt. It was obvious that the statement had been directed at him. He cleared his throat and straightened himself up. “Look, I was just wondering if he was being a gentleman or not, ok? I’m allowed to be worried, I mean you're my-”

“Friend?” Her voice barely came out in a whisper. 

Ron looked at her. His face looked  _ sad. _ “Yes, Hermione. My friend. You look tired, go get some rest.” And with that he turned round and started walking across the room. Hermione acted without thinking, “Wait!” Ron swivelled around almost instantly. “Yeah?” Hermione could feel the heat burning her cheeks. She swallowed her pride and asked, “Do you know how to get into the kitchens?” Ron looked thoroughly confused. “The kitchens? Er- yeah. Fred and George told me how a few years ago. You just have to get near the portrait outside the great hall and-

-tickle the pear.” They said it at the same time.

Ron grinned. God she missed that grin. “Yeah, that’s all. Why’d you ask?” Hermione looked around the common room, making sure nobody was there. “Well, it’s been a long night, and I was too busy escaping Cormac to eat. Do you want to?” She left the question in the air. To her surprise, Ron’s grin turned into a full smile. “Of course! Let’s go.”

And with that, they walked back out into the hallway, running down the stairs, laughing together as they dodged gaps and chaperones lurking the halls. Then, they found their way at an intersection. Without warning, Ron grabbed Hermione’s wrist. “This way.” He led them down a darker hall, Hermione’s mind still reeling at what had just happened. 

When they finally reached the kitchens 20 minutes later, both Ron and Hermione were so out of breath that they had to sit on the wooden stools for a solid 30 seconds to catch their breaths. Ron got up and walked to a small cabinet. Tapping it once with his wand, and muttering something under his breath. The cabinet swung open to reveal the largest collection of sweets and pastries Hermione had ever seen. Ron smirked. “Dig in.” 

  
  
  


And that’s how Ron and Hermione ended up sitting on the floor of the Hogwarts kitchens, laughing, eating, and talking, at 11:30 at night. Hermione was still wearing her soiled dress, but she didn’t care. She realized, 3 pumpkin pasties later, that she would much rather spend the entire night like this, with  _ him, _ than with anyone else, especially not McLaggen. 

She turned her head to her right. His side profile was perfect. By the light of the large stoves, she could make out every freckle on his face. He must have noticed her staring, because he turned his head and cleared his throat, eyebrows raising in question. Hermione smiled and shook her head. 

It had been a fun night, _ surprisingly, _ but even then Hermione was exhausted. As her eyes closed, she barely registered the warm sweater draping over her shoulders, or the dimming of the lights.

  
  
  


She hated Ron Weasley. She hated him so much. She could list a million reasons why she hated him.

But as she gave into sleep, resting on his shoulder, she realized that she couldn’t remember a single one of those reasons. 


End file.
